


In His Place

by Moonlit_Summoner



Category: Final Fantasy X & Final Fantasy X-2, Final Fantasy X -Will-
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Summoner/pseuds/Moonlit_Summoner
Summary: Extended scene drabble in Bevelle after Yuna makes a heartbreaking decision. (If you haven't listened to the Audio Drama, I would suggest you do that first!)





	In His Place

Half-way down the hall and the resonance of that door closing **still** fell against her ears; it was but _one more thing_ to shoulder, and she intended to do so without complaint. For each step that carried her away from the scene in which the _greatest_ **sin** of all had been committed, the dignified posture in which she adopted threatened to falter—where her shoulders slackened she would adjust them accordingly, chin raising slightly and biting back the emotions caught within the confines of her tightening throat. 

She’d been _thrill_   to **fantasy** one too many times—a misfortune all her making and that demanded a steep price to be paid. Responsibility falling to no one but herself, thus, abating her trepidation, as it kept the rest from becoming entangled in the web; the solitary afterthought affording a **comfort** that no one else _could give_.  


This was **her sin** to atone for.  


And it had never been more realized when facing the current plight befalling the masses—it solidified **every** choice she’d made up til now. Even the most recent, only just rounding the corridor with a crestfallen expression; heart still hemorrhaging beneath her breast...though the wound was inflicted upon another—the blade had cut **both** ways it seemed.  


Unaware that sights were settled against the floor beneath her boots, the quietest sound of another brought it to her attention and forced eyes to raise. The boy held a **somber** stare himself, offering the weakest of smiles when gracing him with her presence; a smile she knew all, too, well, but could not muster in return—that lie twisting **painfully** in her gut simply wouldn’t allow her to do so, when it had all the times before.  


“You’re _certain_ you want to see this through—” Voice frail and falling short of its otherwise sweetened nature. “—willing to make the sacrifice that’s asked of us _?_ ”  


She **needed** to be certain, readily _willing_ to do what was necessary by herself; but he’d been steadfast in his offer to accompany her—to share the burden, even as she refuted him. But now? The hopeful glint that shone in golden hues **dimmed** considerably, noting how his head bowed lower at her inquiry.  


It only served to bolster the insurmountable guilt silently held within herself.  


“Go back to her—she’ll find it in herself to **forgive** you.”  


The advice imparted to him felt hypocritical in nature, acutely aware that she had intended to do the opposite; but his head recovered from its lowered state at her suggestion, defiantly refusing the out she’d given him and unable to be dissuaded. His intentions were **resolute** —their fates intertwining in such **tragic** fashion.  


“I’m ready,” And, as an act of unwavering devotion, he displayed a deep Yevonite bow before her. “I want to stand by you, Lady Yuna—until the end.”  


She so desperately wanted to deny him—turn Kurgum away and send him back in an attempt to seek Chuami’s favor. To keep him **safe** instead of delivering him into the perilous dangers that lay ahead of her. But it would have been futile, and perhaps... **crippling**. There was so much of her own spirit within him; to diminish it would mean denying everything that made her _who she was_. So she simply nodded in return and resumed a steady stride past where he stood, a need to **escape** this place so that they could begin.  


But before either of them _could leave_ , there was one last thing that needed to be done: the people **needed** to hear her speak—they needed her **support**. And so she turns her thoughts elsewhere for the moment, formulating what words of comfort she could offer...in what might very well be the last speech she would **ever give** _Spira_.  



End file.
